Tales from Kalgachia - 31
Far below the mountains, deep within the earth, was a chamber - a tomb, in fact.
It was a particularly fine one, as well it should be; its occupant had spent quite some time siting and designing it and even carving it. Zombots had done the basic excavation, of course, but the fine detail he had left to himself. He had always considered himself a craftsman, and he had felt strongly that working with his own two hands kept him grounded and jolly. The result was clear: the chamber, bier and all, had been carved out of a single enormous vein of smoky quartz, detailed in intaglio all around with scenes of joy and mirth and celebration, with details inlaid in oddly untarnished silver. It was rather a pity that, being unlit as it usually was, it could not be seen.
Besides the floor, the only undecorated surface was the top of the bier. Atop it was a skeletal figure stretched out in repose, hands clasped over its chest, clad in a robe of black with silver trimmings. Under its head was a pillow, of a similar material and design. Next to the bier, placed as if to be within easy reach of the figure, was an ebony nightstand. On it was an unlit candle in a candlestick; there was also a moldering layer of paper, some clue to the nature of which were some of the larger smudges of ink still visibly reading LICH WEEKLY.
There were slippers on the floor near the base of the bier. They were black with silver pompoms.
Aside from the gentle self-mulching of the magazine, the tomb had remained in its current state for years. And when change came at last, it was hard to mark what it was and when exactly it happened; there was a new feel to the dead air, but it was no sudden thing, no electric crackle, just a quiet refilling of some undefined warmth that had been drained away.
And then, in the eyesockets of the skull, blue pinpoints of light appeared and brightened.
They looked to one side, then the other. Shadows danced around the room.
With some care, the figure swung its legs off the bier, planting its feet in the slippers, and sat up. It stretched gingerly, picked up the candlestick, and stuck the wick of the candle into its eye, which caused it to be set alight.
WELL, it said, THAT WAS CERTAINLY REFRESHING. I REALLY MUST CONSIDER DOING IT AGAIN SOME TIME.
It reached for the magazine, but was surprised to come away with a mere piece, moistly torn off. He peered at the state of the paper, which had clearly been sitting there for a long time.
OH DEAR.
Lord Toastypops' old castle was not unoccupied. The city having been inhabited mostly by zombots during his previous tenure, the collapse of Minarboria had been marked mostly by the deafening silence that resulted, and a number of notable buildings had survived intact and been looted relatively late and in a fairly orderly fashion, sometimes even supervised by the incoming authorities. While the castle had been judged as too showy for a center of government, causing most of the offices of the Lieutenancy to be housed in the lower city, no one had been able to bring themselves to tear it down, and in the end the Church had been happy to reactivate the attached toy factory for the jollity of the population as well as its own economic benefit.
The return of Lord Toastypops to his domain, however, beginning as it did with him emerging from a hidden entrance in a disused closet in an unremarkable section of basement in his old castle, was not initially noticed,and remained unnoticed for far longer than it might have; being Byeday, most of the workforce was not present. The lich ambled through the halls of his castle, the residential portions of which had been lovingly preserved and restored (he was rather touched by the effort to replace his office chair with a facsimile, though it did not have the homey comfort of the original). He seemed unconcerned by most of it, and eventually passed, without comment, through the castle's main doors. That they had been firmly locked up until that point failed to hinder him; the doors of his old abode would not remain shut in his face no matter what had been done to them.
It was clear from the outside that the toy factory had also been restarted, rather to his surprise. He would have to find out about that; he got no sense that someone had resumed his work in his absence, yet clearly toys were being made.
Shrugging, he crossed the forecourt to the overlook, over which the castle loomed at the city below. He regarded the sight silently, then turned and strode down the road.
Jollity was a far different town than its days as Sepulchre. When Lord Toastypops had last ruled here, most of its buildings had been repaired or rebuilt Ashkenatzi leftovers, most of its inhabitants zombots; mortals had existed, but been, so to speak, a blip on the radar. Since the arrival of settlers in this sheltered valley, they had rebuilt much of the city to meet their needs, both above and below ground. While it was difficult for Lord Toastypops to actually be disoriented by any mundane matter - his nature having given him a rather idiosyncratic form of clairvoyance - he nonetheless found fascinating the dissonance between what had been and what now was. He wandered without evident purpose through both the surface and belowground streets, nodding amiably at passersby, most of whom stopped and stared at him - to them the sight of costumed Toastypops actors was familiar during the winter tourist season, but this individual had emerged unfashionably early onto largely empty streets.
There were, indeed fewer people about than he might have expected, and it became clear why when he arrived at the entrance to the Ketherist church of one of Jollity's central parishes; afternoon services were being held, and there was the sound of the congregation singing a cheerful hymn. Dedicated to him, in fact, by the sound of it. Interested, he meandered into the church and seated himself in one of the uppermost pews.
In any church, the appearance of a congregation member after the service has already started is something of a distraction - heads turn, glances get cast. In this case, the glances of those nearest to the lich turned into double-takes. What began as sneers of derision at the stranger's blasphemous mockery of a consecrated cavern by attending dressed up as a Salvator of the faith, turned into a grudging admiration at the realistic quality of his skull 'mask' and eventually the horrified realisation that it was no more artificial than the skeletal hands which protruded from his cavelike sleeves, a series of ashen white bones held together and animated by some unknown force without the aid of skin, flesh or sinew. After two of the hymn's verses, he had grasped enough of the tune to hum along to the third in a quiet but permeating voice which seemed to pour as freely from his sleeves as it did from his black hood - his chest all the while remaining stock still and unbreathing, in unnerving contrast to the hearty respirations of the other parishioners. As the hymn drew near its end, a slowly rising current of hushed voices could be heard. The purple-skinned Credent, who had noted the new arrival during the hymn but was unable to see him clearly from this distance, cleared his throat loudly before proceeding in leading the prayer. "Above is below. Below is above. Below is above. Above is below. Hear us who assemble by this sign…"
He got only halfway through before he was gradually overwhelmed by the noise and excitement of the congregation. "What -exactly- is going on?" he demanded.
The somewhat hysterical cries of "Lord Toastypops!" mystified him until a figure at the back, with glowing blue eyes, announced in a deep voice, PRAY EXCUSE ME. DON'T MIND ME, I'M JUST WATCHING.
"Hghn," the Credent replied.
In the end, at Lord Toastypops' insistence, they made it through the rest of the services, though much of it was paid no attention and the mystery play was effectively dropped, the children being too goggle-eyed at their visitor to do any meaningful acting. All the while, he sat in the back with every sign of quiet interest and enjoyment, as if he were a new but otherwise ordinary congregant. He did, however, actively join the proceedings by stationing himself at the exit at the end of the service and greeting each of them individually. He knew their names, their ages. He passed each one an object, pulled out of his voluminous sleeves, and murmured a comment to each.
When the Credent shyly approached, Lord Toastypops turned to regard him. CREDENT BRYOPHYTUM NIR, AGED FIFTY-TWO?
"Y-yes, sir, that's me."
The lich nodded amiably, reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a round, disclike object and handed it to him. It appeared to be some kind of cookie.
NOT LICHMAS, I KNOW, he commented, patting the shaken priest on the shoulder, BUT I DO HAVE SOME LOST TIME TO MAKE UP.
The subsequent few days were followed by events in startling quantities. Credent Nir's frantic messages to his elders in the Church, whose sanity content was briefly debated by some of the more doubtful, were soon augmented by reports broadcast on Summit 1 about a lich happily wandering around Jollity, handing out cookies or corpse wax as he felt appropriate and gaining an increasing tail of awestruck Toastypops-watchers. A delegation was quickly dispatched from the March's administering monastery to observe and meet with him, and came away with various expressions of awe and exaltation and, in the case of the one who'd received a particularly large and disturbingly-colored lump of adipocere and a private discussion of his very own, abject terror.
Their findings were quickly brought to the attention of the Lieutenancy, and then, along with those of more circumspect observers such as the Prefects, to the Council of Perfecti. National media began to herald the return of a Salvator of the Garden and the lawful Lord Lieutenant of Jollity. While Lord Toastypops himself seemed quite oblivious to these developments, and indeed had begun preparing to start wandering the Kalgachi landscape to spread jollity beyond his city, inevitably he was timidly approached about his official position. After conferring with the authorities, he had appeared to consider for a moment, then had altered his plans, departing on the next train toward Katarsis, pausing only to leave a single instruction with his would-be subordinates:
KINDLY INFORM YOUR PERFECTI THAT I WISH TO SEE THEM IN PERSON. I WILL BE IN OKTAVYAN AS SOON AS TRANSIT TIME PERMITS.
He could have arrived sooner, of course; he had his own ways to cross stretches of distance. But being on the train allowed him to take in the sights, and, using a pen and paper requisitioned from a member of the staff, to begin sketching out a map.
The time between the lich's arrival in Oktavyan and his arrival in the Council chamber was unusually long, due in part to his steadfast tendency, despite the efforts of those sent to usher him along, to wander back into public areas and stop to talk to people and hand out candy skulls.
Despite all the hasty arrangements made in the chambers of the Perfecti to receive him, his arrival was announced by the unexpected means of an alarm bell in the chambers' guardroom, along with an illuminated bulb on the wall indicating that a panic button had been pressed in the lobby immediately outside the Perfecti's meeting chamber itself. The lobby was filled with armed Laqi special forces personnel within seconds, who beheld the sight of Lord Toastypops chatting affably to a bewildered Nezeni secretary. The layers of security checks required to enter the complex - and there were many - had somehow been bypassed by their undead visitor who had, by subsequent analysis, materialised somewhere within a five-metre stretch of connecting corridor which was unseen by the complex's surveillance cameras. Breaking from his conversation to regard the many gun barrels pointed in his direction, Lord Toastypops nonchalantly observed that bullets did little to a fellow of his condition and that he had no wish to waste the guards' time, hence the decision to arrive by what he called his 'own means'.
After receiving assorted gifts, the guards were dismissed and other officials arrived to confirm Lord Toastypops' appointment with Kalgachia's sovereigns. When at last he had been ushered into the Perfecti's meeting chamber and been announced, he had greeted them all warmly and by name. Withdrawing a very large candy cane from the depths of his sleeve and leaning idly on it, he asked questions about the nature of a Lord Lieutenant's duties. He gave the rather strong impression of an amiably absent-minded grandfather, especially since many of his responses were along the lines of YES, I SEE, and QUITE SO.
At last, however, after some pondering, Lord Toastypops had straightened up. WELL, ALL THAT SEEMS FINE, I SUPPOSE. I HAVE NOT ACTUALLY GOVERNED MORTALS IN A LONG TIME, QUITE A LONG TIME, AND I PREFER NOT TO BE TOO SUBMERGED IN MINUTIAE LEST IT DISTRACT ME FROM MY USUAL WORK; BUT THE ADMINISTRATION OF THE LIEUTENANCY APPEARS, ON THE WHOLE, TO BE DOING A GOOD JOB, AND I FEEL THAT UNDER MY SUPERVISION I CAN RELY ON THEM TO CARRY ON AS THEY HAVE. I SHALL REVIEW AND SIGN THOSE THINGS THAT NEED IT, AND ATTEND THE LORD LIEUTENANTS' COUNCIL WHEN NECESSARY, AND SO FORTH - I LOOK FORWARD, INCIDENTALLY, TO MEETING YOUR DAUGHTER, YOUNG XANTUS, AS I UNDERSTAND SHE IS THE CHAIR OF THAT BODY.
Xantus Yastreb, the chairman of the Council, couldn't remember the last time anyone had called him young; it was hard not to choke a bit on the incongruity of it. "Indeed she is. No doubt your first meeting will be interesting." He meant it, too. He would give a lot to see what she made of her new colleague whose very existence in her mind, along with millions of other young Kalgachi citizens, had hitherto been the preserve of folk tales and sermons.
ALL THAT BEING SAID, the lich continued, I FEEL I MUST EMPHASIZE A PARTICULAR POINT. There was a slight tensing around the table as he appeared to consider his next words. I AM NOT ONE TO DIRECTLY INTERFERE WITH MORTAL INSTITUTIONS. HOWEVER- (his gaze turned toward the member responsible for education and outreach) - I AM NOT ENTIRELY AT HOME WITH THIS… URCHAGIN, AS YOU CALL IT. I HAVE SEEN TERROR STRUCK INTO TOO MANY UNDESERVING YOUNG HEARTS AS AN INCIDENTAL MATTER TO BE SATISFIED WITH IT BEING DONE AS A STATE POLICY.
The member in question, a lady of stern grandmotherly appearance, cleared her throat nervously. "It has been felt, since the Urgachin was implemented, that the net positives-"
YES, YES, Lord Toastypops replied, waving a hand. SO I GATHER. I WILL, SOMEWHAT AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGMENT, NOT CURRENTLY ATTEMPT TO INSIST UPON SUBSTANTIVE CHANGES TO THE PROGRAM, THOUGH I DO NOT CONSIDER THE MATTER SETTLED. BUT I WISH YOU, DEAR MEMBERS, TO UNDERSTAND THAT I WILL BE TAKING AN EXTREMELY CLOSE INTEREST IN THE CONDUCT OF THE URGACHIN, AND IN THOSE ADMINISTERING IT. IF ANY BOUNDS HAVE BEEN CROSSED THAT SHOULD NOT BE CROSSED, I WILL KNOW, AND I WILL ENSURE THAT THOSE RESPONSIBLE WILL KNOW THAT I KNOW. IT IS INCUMBENT UPON ME TO DO SO, NOT AS A STATE FUNCTIONARY, BUT AS WHAT YOU CALL A SALVATOR. I HOPE I AM UNDERSTOOD?
There appeared to be no suggestion of disagreement. Only Xantus ventured to speak.
"My Lord Salvator," he began, "I only wish you could have known my late wife while she was alive. Then you might have seen that her creation of the Urchagin programme was done out of love and care for the youth of this nation... a desire to see them properly equipped against the archonic thieves of jollity beyond our borders, should they ever violate our frontiers. Be that as it may... there have been abuses of power within the programme. We cannot hide that from you. The DEO and the Prefects work as best they can to ensure the instilment of terror is administered at... inoculatory rather than harmful doses. The programme has no tolerance for those who take sincere pleasure in the pain of those children... such sadism is merely simulated by trained actors to present an accurate picture of the world's archonic agents. True, there may be some who enjoy the role a little too much... and if they should escape the attention of their immediate authorities, I do not believe anyone on this council would be justified in objecting to your own intervention."
"Hear hear," said the member responsible for the Church of Kalgachia. "None must stand in the way of the Garden's will. I have every confidence and expectation that my sovereign sister responsible for education and outreach... will be most receptive to any suggestions our Lord Salvator may have for amendments to the programme." Over a pair of lanyarded reading glasses, his eyes were directed straight at her.
"But of course," she muttered, her eyes dropping nervously to the granite table while she shifted in her seat.
VERY GOOD, said Lord Toastypops, his voice returning to jollity. NOW, THERE ARE TWO MORE ITEMS I WISH TO DRAW YOUR ATTENTION TO BEFORE I TAKE MY LEAVE. I ADMIT THAT I DO SO FOR THE FIRST WITH SOME RELUCTANCE; IT IS ONE OF THOSE SITUATIONS WITH NO READILY ASCERTAINABLE SOLUTION, BUT YOUR KNOWING OF IT WILL BE, I HOPE, THE BEST OF A RANGE OF POOR CHOICES. YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT I DO NOT APPEAR TO BE THE ONLY LICHLY REMNANT OF MINARBORIA; THE MILITARY PERSONAGE MORS NERROLAR APPEARS TO STILL BE ACTIVE.
This caused a stir around the table. Mors Nerrolar, the famed but perennially benighted soldier of fortune who had twice held the throne of Shireroth and later spearheaded the colonisation of Minarboria, had last been seen wandering a stretch of Tee-al infested wilderness during the collapse of the latter empire in a state of some personal distress. The notion of his undead form continuing to function, after the cotemporal collapse of Benacian lichdom and all that had ravaged the land in the years since, was so unlikely as to be fantastical. "How?" came the Council's startled questions. "And where?"
I AM AFRAID I HAVE ONLY AN APPROXIMATE NOTION OF WHERE HE IS, AND, I MUST SAY, I AM NOT INCLINED TO SHARE IT AT THIS TIME; IT IS ENOUGH FOR YOU TO KNOW HE REMAINS. AS FOR WHY THAT IS, AND HOW HE REMAINS… His voice lowered to a tone of sepulchral sadness. TO THIS DAY, I AM NOT CERTAIN WHAT DESIGNS ARE HAD UPON HIM BY THOSE YOU CALL THE ARCHONS. FROM HIS EARLIEST LIVING DAYS, THEY HAVE DEVOTED SPECIAL ATTENTION TO HIM - USED HIM AS THEIR PLAYTHING, PUSHED HIM, MOLDED HIM, WRENCHED HIM, IN SOME MAD ATTEMPT TO BREAK HIM. AND DESPITE A RESULTING GRIMNESS AND SOME REMARKABLY CLOSE CALLS- (he turned his head to Xantus, who recalled his father's account of his meeting with Mors at &zeter) -HE HAS NEVER QUITE FALLEN TO THEM. BUT WITH THE FALL OF MINARBORIA AND THE END OF EVERYTHING REMAINING THAT HE HAS HELD DEAR, HIS GRIP ON SANITY AT LAST WEAKENED CONSIDERABLY. IT PAINS ME TO SAY THAT, GIVEN THE DESPAIR HE WOULD SUFFER WERE HE LUCID, THIS MAY BE FOR THE BEST. He peered keenly at them. SHOULD IT COME TO PASS THAT YOU COME ACROSS HIM, YOU MAY BE OBLIGED TO DEAL WITH HIM, FOR BETTER OR WORSE. RARELY CAN ANYONE RUN FOREVER. WHAT I ASK, HOWEVER, IS THAT YOU MAKE NO EFFORT TO DELIBERATELY SEEK HIM OUT; HE HAS BEEN, AND CONTINUES TO BE, SUBJECT TO MORE THAN ENOUGH TORMENT WITHOUT ADDITIONS TO HIS TROUBLES.
AND NOW, YOUNG XANTUS, he added without pause, THERE IS A SECOND MATTER I MUST DISCUSS WITH YOU, AND I WISH TO DO SO IN PRIVATE. WHILE IT IS NOT A MATTER THAT NEED BE KEPT FROM YOUR SOVEREIGN BROTHERS, AS SUCH, IT IS RATHER… PERSONAL.
With a polite nod, he turned and exited the chamber. An uncomfortable silence hovered over the table before Xantus slowly stood up. "Excuse me," he said. "I'll… fill you in afterward."
A room was located where they could both sit down. Xantus found himself the center of Lord Toastypops' attention, the focus of a blue stare that absorbed the soul, and felt an urge to shiver that even the coldest days had struggled to instill in him.
I MET YOUR FATHER ONCE, YOU KNOW, the lich said quietly.
"Yes… he mentioned it." Xantus tried to ignore the little prick to the heart that childhood memories brought. The event in question, wherein Lord Toastypops had interceded to prevent his father's summary execution by Mors Nerrolar during the Harvestfall Revolution, occurred before he was born but the memory of its telling invariably brought the face of his late father to his mind. "Would Mors really have done it? If you hadn't been there?"
I LIKE TO THINK HE WOULD NOT. EVEN IN EXTREMITY, HIS SENSE OF HONOR STRUGGLED AGAINST HIS ANGER. BUT THEN- An uncharacteristically helpless shrug. -SOME THINGS ARE OCCLUDED, EVEN FROM ME. I FELT IT BEST NOT TO LEAVE IT TO CHANCE, LEST HE BE STAINED PERMANENTLY. AS IT WAS, HE WAS EASILY AMONG THE LEAST JOLLY PEOPLE EVER TO WALK THE FACE OF MICRAS, AND NO WONDER. He leaned closer. HOWEVER, IT IS NOT MORS I WISHED TO SPEAK OF TO YOU. THE GODS - THE ARCHONS - MOVE IN MANY WAYS, YOUNG XANTUS. YOUR OWN JOLLITY HAS SUFFERED GREATLY IN PAST YEARS. He held up a hand. I DO NOT SEEK TO INSTILL DOUBTS. YOU ARE NOT MORS, AND HOPE STILL REACHES YOU. I WISH TO OFFER YOU SOME.
He reached into one of his sleeves, and withdrew a folded piece of paper, which Xantus numbly took when proffered. Unfolded, it showed a map - beautifully rendered, hills and mountains and trees lovingly drawn in - of southern Kalgachia. A small circle was drawn in the lesser peaks around Mount Octavian, about a hundred and twenty kilometers east-southeast of Lithead, and next to the circle were set a longitude and latitude, each to within three decimal places, and the words "Within Five Miles". In one corner of the map was an inset depicting what appeared to be a stony hill, one side of it collapsed in an untidy heap of rubble.
Lord Toastypops tapped the inset with one bony finger. I REALIZED THE DIRECTIONS STILL MADE FOR AN UNCOMFORTABLY LARGE SEARCH ZONE, he said helpfully, SO I SKETCHED THE LOCATION AS BEST AS I COULD. THE MAP SHOULD BE EFFECTIVE FOR SOME TIME - I ESTIMATE A YEAR OR TWO - WHICH SHOULD GIVE YOU SOME CHANCE OF FINDING THE EXACT LOCATION. THERE IS A CHAMBER BENEATH THE ROCKSLIDE.
Xantus stared at the map. He couldn't imagine Lord Toastypops directing him to some wealth of gold and jewels. "Forgive me, but what is this directing me to?"
The lich's expression was blank, insofar as a skinless face could have expression. AH, I FORGOT TO LABEL IT, DIDN'T I? I DO BEG YOUR PARDON. I HAD THAT HABIT EVEN WHILE I WAS ALIVE. ANNOYED MY COMRADES TO NO END. THAT, IF MY CLAIRVOYANCE ISN'T FAILING ME, IS THE CURRENT LOCATION OF PRETHIL NAL.
Xantus' hand jerked, and the map drifted to the floor. "What?"
PRETHIL NAL. YOUR MOTHER, I BELIEVE, Toastypops explained patiently.
"Yes, but-" he glanced down at the map, trembling. He hadn't known anything about where she'd been at the time of Minarboria's collapse, nothing at all, but it was hard to see how she'd come to be there.
Through the sensation of the room trying to spin around him, he heard Toastypops say, I KNOW IT MUST BE A BIT OF A START FOR YOU, AND OF COURSE YOU ARE BUSY. BUT I WOULD NOT WASTE TOO MUCH TIME BEFORE RETRIEVING HER, IF I WERE YOU.
"Yes… of course," Xantus murmured, his eyes misting up. "Thank you. I believe that perhaps I can find a… more appropriate tomb for her."
VERY COMMENDABLE, OF COURSE, said Toastypops, slowly rising to his feet. THOUGH SOMEWHAT PREMATURE. AFTER DOING HER THE COURTESY OF UNBURYING HER, I SUSPECT SHE WILL NOT BE EAGER TO CONTEMPLATE BEING REINTERRED, NO MATTER HOW NICE THE LOCATION.
Xantus looked up sharply. "What? But surely she's dead?"
The lich looked down sternly at him. DEAD? WHY, THAT WOULDN'T BE JOLLY AT ALL.
